


down to brass tacks

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dean Tries, M/M, Season/Series 12, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: He puts his hands in his pockets as he flees the kitchen and his fingers brush cool metal. He bites his lip and tries to get over the fact that Castiel appears to have given him jewelry for Valentine’s Day.Even if it is regifted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!! <3
> 
> This fic is also available in French! [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10601514)

They finally get a lead on Kelly Kline on a Saturday. Spurred on by guilt and probably a bit of cabin fever, Castiel turns right around from the hunt he just returned from with Mary to chase her down.

“Oh,” Castiel says, turning. He sticks a hand into his coat pocket. “I almost forgot.”

It isn’t like him to forget things, so the move _has_ to be calculated. Then again, he loses his phone all over the place. Maybe he really did just forget whatever it is. Dean’s startled out of his musing by a shiny projectile hurtling towards his face, which he catches gracelessly in one hand. The metal, whatever it is, feels cool in his palm. He blinks up at Castiel.

“Where’d you even get this?” he asks, turning it around in front of the light. The Enochian is still carved nicely into the ridges, the edges aren’t even scratched from the fight. That is, assuming this is the same pair that Ms. Watt had been using.

Castiel shrugs. “Mick gave them to me,” he says. “I don’t have any use for them, and since -” he swallows. “Since Ishim, I’ve been wondering how I could arm you better against angels.” He gestures to the piece in Dean’s hands. “They work.”

Dean scoffs, but can’t help slipping his hands through the holes of the brass knuckles. They’re a little tight, he’s a little clumsy, but he’s sure that with practice they’ll pack a mean punch. (Literally.) It’s harder to knock these off of him than it would be to disarm him with an angel blade. He’s got to admit; the BMOL tech that they’ve gotten their hands on so far has impressed him.

“Yeah, they do,” he agrees, remembering Cas sprawled bleeding in the dirt. He clears his throat and sticks the brass in his pocket. “Well, thanks for the regift,” he says, carefully not meeting Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel nods. “I’ll call you from the road. Let me know if you find anything else on Kelly in the meantime.”

Dean waves a hand over his shoulder and turns back to his breakfast. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, you’re burning daylight.”

Castiel hovers for a minute more in the doorway, but finally turns to leave just as Sam lumbers in.

“Hey,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “He shipping out already?”

Dean nods and fills his mouth full of cereal so that he doesn’t have to talk about it anymore. Sam still looks at him from the other side of the room like he expects an answer. “Yeah,” so Dean says. “Checking out a lead.”

Sam takes a mug down from the cabinet and starts to fill it with water. “We sure it’s ok he’s going alone?”

Dean shrugs. “The Brits will back him up if he asks,” he bites, a little more bitter than he intended.

 _Mick gave them to me._ Mick. Who even the fuck. Whatever. Dean fidgets in his seat and tries to ignore the weight of Castiel’s gift in his pocket.

Sam almost doesn’t say anything about Dean’s tone - he trusts the Brits just as little as Dean does. At least his brother’s on his side. “You ok?” he asks anyway.

Dean shrugs again and plays with his food. “Peachy.”

Sam sticks his mug in the microwave and fishes out a teabag from the jar they keep on the counter. “You know, your favorite holiday’s coming up. Perfect time to blow off some steam,” he says casually, unfolding his tea packet. He smirks to himself. “Maybe give Larry a call.”

“Shut up,” Dean snaps reflexively. Sam’s words sink in a little. Favorite holiday? It’s February. “You mean Valentine’s Day?”

Sam makes a face. “Yeah, you know. ‘Unattached drifter Christmas?’ It’s Tuesday. Thought you were into that.”

Dean ducks his head and shakes it, staring into his bowl. It’s mostly just milk and disfigured soggy cereal by now, and he’s tempted to throw the whole thing out.

“Getting a little old for that, don’t you think?” he mutters, almost shyly.

Sam frowns, but the microwave beeps just in time to stop an immediate reply. Dean gets up, puts his bowl in the sink, and pats Sam on the shoulder. “Back to the grind,” he says, false cheer in his voice.

He puts his hands in his pockets as he flees the kitchen and his fingers brush cool metal. He bites his lip and tries to get over the fact that Castiel appears to have given him jewelry for Valentine’s Day.

Even if it is regifted.

 

Castiel keeps his promise, but only sort of. He sends text updates. Dean sits up in bed on Sunday and opens them all first thing in the morning. They’re all innocuous things like, “Traffic is terrible on 281,” and “It’s Sunday. Chick-fil-A is closed :(” and “Are you awake? How are you?” and Dean laughs along with each one before actually having to set his phone down for a minute.

 _All he has to do is text me and my dick gets hard,_ he marvels to himself, only half awake. _He asked me how my day was going and it got hard._

He tries to go back to sleep, but finds that he can’t. His stupid sleepy grin won’t go away. He ends up taking an extra long shower and bites his lip so hard he nearly breaks the skin.

Castiel comes back to the bunker not even two days later, grumpy and empty-handed. Dean hears the door open and bolts up from the table, where he tries to pretend that he wasn’t just killing time until he got back.

“Hey,” he says, wandering into the war room. Castiel hoists his duffle a little higher up his shoulder as he comes down the stairs. “Guess that traffic cam pic didn’t pan out?” he asks.

Castiel sighs and shakes his head. “It was a false alarm. Hello, Dean.”

The familiar words, unfortunately, make Dean’s heart do stupid, acrobatic things. “Well, don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching out to clap his friend on the shoulder.

Castiel melts a little under the touch, shoulders untensing and brow smoothing into something that is almost relaxed. “I’m getting frustrated,” he mumbles anyway.

Dean chuckles despite himself. “It’s ok, man. We got time. Not like a baby can just pop out tomorrow.”

Castiel looks doubtful. He lifts up his bag and gestures to the hallway. “I’m going to put this down,” he says. “I’ll meet you in the library.”

Dean nods and sends him off with another pat on the shoulder. It’s weird and it’s stupid and Dean shakes his head at himself even though his heart is still beating in double time. He heads to the kitchen first and pours some coffee into a mug. He carefully carries the mug, steam still curling into the air, to an empty space across from his own at the great table in the library.

Castiel shuffles back into the room, and Dean doesn't even have to look up to know that he’s there. The air shifts around them like it’s making room for Castiel in the spaces between the dust motes, even if Dean can’t hear him coming. The chair squeaks a little as Castiel pulls it out, and he hums appreciatively when he notices the coffee. “Thank you,” he says.

“No problem,” Dean says, ignoring the way his face heats a little. _Is now a good time?_

“There’s um,” Dean coughs. He was going to say _there’s more where that came from,_ but that sounds stupid now that he’s thinking about actually saying it. “You might want to head down to the range later,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on his laptop.

Castiel quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?” Dean peeks up at his face to watch a little smile worm its way there. He’s already slid down into his chair, comfortable, and wrapped both hands around his coffee mug. “Why?”

“No reason,” Dean says, tapping away on his keyboard just to have something to do. “Just thought you could use some things for your new car is all. Since everything was in the Continental.”

Castiel sighs. “I miss that car,” he bemoans. “That was awfully nice of you. What’s the occasion?”

The question is only a half-serious one, but Dean shrugs defensively regardless. _No reason, none at all. Nope._ He touches the brass he still keeps in his pocket. For courage.

He decides to go with the truth. Well, part of it anyway. He leans over the edge of his laptop to tell him, “Mom called while you were gone.” He’s lowered his voice but he isn’t quite sure why; there’s no one in here but them anyway.

Castiel frowns and sets down his mug. “Is she alright?”

“What? No, yeah, she’s fine,” Dean says. “But she, you know. She told me what happened in Minnesota.”

Just like that, Castiel’s good mood seems to vanish. His shoulders hunch over and the tiny smile drops as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Oh,” he mutters. “She did.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, well. I guess we didn’t do a good enough job for preparing you for the hunter life.” This seems to make Castiel feel worse, and compulsively Dean can’t stop trying to make it better. He’s not even sure what he did, but he’s definitely killed the mood. “Hey, everyone messes up. It’s not a big deal, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head and doesn’t agree. He keeps his eyes turned down at the table and folds his hands.

Dean blows out a frustrated breath. “Look, it’s… I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine,” Castiel tells him. But it isn’t, because Castiel’s not happy and it’s all Dean’s fault. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”

Even though the words are right, the way Castiel says them makes Dean want to go bang his head against a wall. “Yeah, well. You’re welcome.”

They sit together there in silence, not talking, not meeting eyes. Sam delivers some half-hearted attempt at lunch at some point, but their frosty grunting drives him off pretty quickly. Dean sighs and puts his nose back to the grindstone.

He was hoping that maybe, if Castiel went down to collect his care package down in the range, he would see the carefully crafted (if rushed) unit that Dean had installed down there earlier. It’s made of cedar, and it holds all the angel blades they’ve collected in the past eight years like pool cues. It’s certainly nicer than just throwing the extras away on top of storage bins, under tables or in boxes like tchotchkes. They deserve more respect than that. Dean thought Castiel might appreciate the gesture.

Or, maybe not. Who knows. By the look on his face, Castiel isn’t going to head down there anytime soon.

Dean shakes his head and represses a groan.

 

Since the gift-giving didn’t work, maybe presents of another kind could cheer Castiel up. After that disaster of a “Welcome Home,” Dean’s determined to do something right today.

He smacks a Chinese menu out of Sam’s hands and shoves him out of the way of the fridge. “Move,” he bites.

Sam lets out an indignant squawk and nearly topples over. “Pushy!” he complains. “You’re in a mood,” he accuses.

Dark clouds hang all around Dean’s ears. “I’m making burgers.”

Sam’s face brightens immediately. “Oh, good. I didn’t really want to go out to pick up food tonight anyway. Thanks.”

Since he likes to spend as little time in the kitchen as possible, Sam’s almost halfway out the door before Dean can even collect his thoughts.

He coughs very deliberately.

Sam turns back around.

Red-faced, Dean shuffles for a few seconds weighing an onion in his hand.

“Can you, um.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

_Come on, you’re a big boy, Dean. Just get it over with._

“Could you maybe take your dinner into your room or something?” he asks, just barely loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam’s eyebrows creep up, up, up. “Uh, ok.” He stifles a tiny laugh and nods more securely. “Yeah, definitely. I’ll put on some Netflix or something. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean whips back around and grabs a mixing bowl from the counter, grumbling out a _thank you_ that probably sounded less than sincere. He wonders if Sam can hear his teeth grinding from all the way over there. His face is flaming hot, he can feel it.

He loses himself in the prep work for a while, kneading the meat with his hands and humming to himself every now and again. The onions sting his eyes, but he’s quick and efficient enough that it doesn’t develop into gross, snotty tears.

Castiel wanders in eventually to return his used coffee mug. He stops in the door and almost smiles. “It smells nice in here.”

Dean startles, but he’s still grinning by the time he turns around to look at Castiel. “Thanks. It’ll be ready in 30 minutes,” he says. He squints at the patties sizzling in the pan. “20 minutes,” he decides.

Castiel smiles, but the shape of it is sad. Dean doesn’t like it. “I don’t feel much like eating today, if that’s alright.” Dean doesn’t say anything for long enough that Castiel becomes uncomfortable. “Sorry,” Castiel adds, sounding like he isn’t very sorry at all.

Dean’s torn between telling him off and mothering him, but before he can decide on a reaction Castiel slips out of the room, back to wherever sulking angels go.

Grease pops loud and hot behind him, and Dean is tempted to just let the stupid things burn.

 

He doesn’t see Castiel for hours. He serves Sam a half-charred burger and snaps that he “doesn’t have to worry about hiding in his room tonight,” which makes him sit up a little straighter and frown a little deeper.

“Is Cas eating with us?” he asks.

“No,” Dean says, and then goes into his own room without eating anything either. He even slams the door for good measure.

He almost calls Mom, just to talk to somebody. It’s not like she would care about his dumb feelings, but she is pretty fond of Castiel so maybe she would listen if Dean plays up the He’s Not Eating And I’m Worried thing. His concern for Castiel is like a butterfly with a broken wing: tightly guarded and anxiously fluttering, persistent and twitching.

Thinking better of it, Dean flops down on his bed with all his clothes still on and grabs his headphones. He closes his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest, and focuses on releasing the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. With some deep breaths and loud music washing over him, he’s asleep within minutes.

He can tell that a lot of time has passed when he wakes up. The bunker’s more quiet than usual, and the pipes creak and groan as the night cools them down. A quick glance at his phone tells him that it’s just before midnight.

Dean takes off his headphones and stretches, silently bemoaning the fact that he probably won’t get back to sleep for the night. He wanders out into the hall instead, scratching his belly and yawning.

His mind, of course, turns to Castiel.

He didn’t have any dreams, let alone of an angel, but that hardly matters. Every day Dean wakes up and he counts the things that are precious to him: Sam, Mom, the Impala, Cas. He takes stock of each one and comfort in the fact that he will be able to see or touch each of those things at will during the course of the day. Sometimes he settles for text messages or games on an app. Sometimes he can’t settle at all, worrying where one of those things might be. Whether he is loved or hated by one or more of them.

Castiel is last in the list because Dean never knows how to answer his own questions about him. Where is he? Is he ok? What does he need from me?

_I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know._

It doesn’t stop Dean from loving him with all he’s got.

Tonight Castiel, as it turns out, is sitting at the kitchen table. He’s taken his coat off and loosened his collar. Bags bruise blue and purple beneath his eyes and his hair curls all wonky like it does after a stressful couple of days. He’s drinking whiskey in one of Dean’s short, clear glasses.

He looks up when Dean comes padding in and self-consciously adjusts his posture. He grabs his tumbler and then lets go of it. “It’s always seemed to help you,” he murmurs.

Dean shakes his head. “Never does,” he admits. “Just keeps you numb for a bit longer.”

Castiel sighs and pushes his glass away. “I’m tired of feeling like that.”

Dean nods and approaches. “It takes a lot out of you,” he sympathizes. Carefully, he drops a hand to Castiel’s hair and starts to smooth it out. “You ok?”

Castiel leans back into the touch, so Dean grabs his shoulder with his other hand and draws him closer. Castiel rests his ear against his tummy and breathes in. “Yeah,” Castiel says after a minute. “And I’m not lying,” he says. “Just feeling sorry for myself, I think. I lost Kelly, I can’t hunt. I’m no worse off than usual I guess.”

Dean rocks him like that, gently. “Can I help?”

Castiel pulls back from Dean’s touch and looks up. Dean’s hands still as their eyes meet, carefully assessing one another.

“Maybe,” Castiel says. He stands. He leans into Dean’s space and parts Dean’s mouth with his own.

Dean’s eyes close when their lips meet. He sweeps his hands up and down Castiel’s back, not quite grabbing but definitely pushing, encouraging and pleading but not holding too tight. He’s always careful not to hold too tight.

“Hey,” he says. The sound is lost to the quiet moan Castiel gives to him. Dean has to indulge after that.

“Hey,” he tries again, resting their foreheads together.

“Hm,” Castiel asks, all but sagging against him.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Dean tells him. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”

Castiel opens his eyes. “I forgot. I didn’t think you’d want to acknowledge the day.”

Dean shrugs. “Sentimental,” he says. He kisses Castiel again, quick as can be. “Come lay down. You look like shit.”

Castiel huffs an indignant laugh, but goes without resistance when Dean tugs him in the direction of the door.

They carefully push the clothing from each other’s weary bodies and gravitate towards each other under the same blankets, sharing pillows, kissing in the dark. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Castiel murmurs, grazing his teeth along the cord of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s hands clutch tightly in his hair and his legs come up almost of their own accord to bracket Castiel in. Suddenly he can’t remember a single reason not to hold too tight.

“You did,” he whispers. “You did.”

And he means more than just a pair of magical brass knuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.ozonecologne.tumblr.com)


End file.
